Manifest Destiny
by Nagato Uzumaki
Summary: 'I was born into darkness, so that is what I became...'. Follow Harry Potter as he battles with his inner demons, his own strength and a Dark Lord hidden in the shadows. For in the end, all that matters is our survival. AU, Year One onwards.
1. Prologue

Credit goes to author: Taure for the prologue.

I welcome you all to my fourth attempt at fanfiction and my first attempt at a Harry Potter fic. It's an ambitious tale, chronicling the tale of Harry James Potter, the boy who lived, as he journeys through life alongside his inner demons and with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This story is rated **M**ature for violence, sexual situations and language.

**Manifest Destiny**

**Prologue**

**Little Whinging, Surrey.**

**August 1****st****, 1991.**

It was not long until he was standing in front of Number Four, its white walls staring at him like every other house, nothing betraying the miracle within. He thought that he could hear a television playing inside. A group of birds started singing in the distance. Yes, it was definitely a good day.

Still, it couldn't hurt to make a nice impression. With a flick of the wrist, a piece of wood – a wand – appeared in Dumbledore's right hand, and he pointed it at himself. In a blink of an eye his magnificent robes had been replaced by a colorful and flamboyantly cut suit, much like the one he used to wear in the Forties when he introduced Muggleborns to the magical world. A bit dated perhaps, but the latest Muggle magazine Albus had read had told him that retro was making a comeback, and he took their advice to heart.

Feeling ready at last, he walked onto the drive of Number Four, and proceeded at a leisurely pace to the front door. Having arrived, he reached for the bell and rung it twice in quick succession: insistent, but not rude. He did not have to wait long before the door swung open to reveal a large, heavy-set man with an equally large moustache. He appeared to be perspiring heavily. Albus Dumbledore took him to be Vernon Dursley.

"Yes?" Vernon asked, and Dumbledore was surprised by the aggressiveness of his tone, as if he were somehow offended by having to answer the door.

"I apologize if I am interrupting something," Albus said, doubting it very much, "but if I may have a moment of your time, Mr. Dursley, I would be most grateful."

Vernon seemed to look over Dumbledore's suit and, if the frown on his face was anything to go by, he disapproved greatly. Nevertheless, he opened the door wider, and gestured for Dumbledore to enter.

"Come in then!" he said impatiently, turning his back on Dumbledore to walk further into the house. "We're not buying whatever you're selling though!"

Dumbledore merely smiled a generous smile and crossed the threshold of the house, passing into a corridor with cream walls. A staircase was to his left, under which was a small cupboard, and to his right were doors leading into the living room and kitchen. He noticed that, though the walls were covered with framed photographs, not one of them included a boy with bright green eyes. It was into the living room, where the television was still blaring, that Mr. Dursley walked, Dumbledore behind him.

The room was, like the rest of the house, thoroughly boring. It was square, once again with cream walls, once again covered with pictures. The edges of the room were lined with plush sofas, and taking center stage was a television of respectable size, sitting in front of the windows looking out onto the front garden. Sitting on one of the sofas was a large, fat boy with small, beady, eyes fixed upon the screen.

The boy made a sound of indignation and protest when Vernon reached for the controller and turned the television off, but quickly became quiet when he saw that there was a visitor.

"Dudley, go to your room for a moment would you? And fetch your mother on your way too," Vernon said, sitting down into an armchair, which sagged by no small amount. Dudley left the room after giving Dumbledore a long look, while Dumbledore himself sat down on the couch Dudley vacated. Vernon looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

"Mr. Dursley, you have not met me, but we have corresponded, many years ago. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

As soon as Dumbledore mentioned his name, Vernon jumped up from his seat, his eye bulging and his face red with anger.

"You!" he shouted. "You! I can't believe I let one of – one of –_you_ – into my home! Get out! Get out this instant!"

This was a reaction less than Dumbledore's had hoped. Still, he was not one unaccustomed to people ranting at him, and so he merely stayed sitting, comfortable as ever, as Vernon continued to shout. It was only when the angry man stopped for a breath that Dumbledore intervened.

"Mr. Dursley, I assure you that my visit is brief. I am here for Harry Potter, as we agreed upon ten years ago."

At the word, "brief", Vernon seemed to deflate a little, and though he scowled heavily when the boy was mentioned, he did not explode again. Of course, Dumbledore casting a calming charm on him surreptitiously didn't hurt either.

"Right. I'll go fetch the boy then. You, stay here, and don't…mess with anything."

Vernon left the room in a hurry and slammed the door, leaving Dumbledore alone. Albus did not miss, however, the very short distance that Vernon travelled to "find the boy", nor did he miss the sound of a latch being undone just outside the living room door, just where the cupboard under the stairs was. Dumbledore frowned.

He was quick to change his frown into a smile though when the door creaked open to reveal a boy with jet-black hair and bright green eyes. Harry Potter.

He was rather tall and thin for his age, and so pale that his skin seemed to glow. He had a long, handsome face with a thin nose and a sharp jaw. In short, he looked like his father, except there was sharpness to his features that Dumbledore was sure could not have come from Lily. It was unsettling for some reason, but Dumbledore shook it off. This was Harry Potter after all.

"Harry," he said warmly, standing up as Harry moved closer towards him and holding out his hand, "how do you do?"

Harry gave Dumbledore a once-over, and he seemed to pass some sort of test, for Harry took Dumbledore's hand and shook it firmly. Interesting, Dumbledore thought. You could tell a lot about a person by their handshake. Harry's was firm and confidant, and Dumbledore began to doubt his conclusions about Harry's bedroom.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore," he said as he sat back down, indicating that Harry should do the same. Harry stayed standing.

"Professor? Like from a university?" Harry suddenly looked wary, and a stony look came across his face. "Whatever Vernon told you, it was a lie."

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. He had not expected this sort of hostility, and the unsettling feeling was returning. Somehow, this felt very familiar…

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Harry," Dumbledore said slowly, "but I am not from a university. No, I'm from a school in Scotland: a school your parents intended you to attend before their deaths."

Harry looked doubtful.

"What's the school's name?" he asked, his eyes looking straight into Dumbledore's own.

Dumbledore always used to hate that question, and forty years had not reduced his reluctance to give the name one bit.

"It is called Hogwarts," he said, inwardly wincing when Harry's eyebrows shot up, quickly replaced by a piecing glare as he continued to look right into Dumbledore's eyes. It was beginning to get unnerving. The challenge was obvious, and Dumbledore started when a memory suddenly came back to him out of the fog of time, as vivid as ever.

_Tell me the truth!_

Dumbledore's heart sank when he realized what was making him so uncomfortable; the nagging familiarity of the situation became clear. Harry Potter reminded him of Tom Riddle. No matter, Dumbledore thought, the boy was Voldemort's vanquisher. It was only expected that he would possess many of the traits that Slytherin valued.

"An unusual name, for an unusual school," Dumbledore finally responded, trying to ease into the shock Harry was about to receive. "Hogwarts is a school of magic."

Silence reigned. Harry's face had gone blank: he was no longer glaring, no doubtful; in fact, there was nothing to read on Harry's face at all. Eventually, he whispered,

"Magic? What I do is magic?"

"_It's…it's magic, what I can do?"_

"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore seriously. He had always loved this moment in the past, yet he could get no joy from this meeting. He didn't want to ask the inevitable question, but it was like he had no choice…

"And what is it that you can do?"

Harry looked back up at Dumbledore's face, now with a surprisingly innocent eagerness that made Dumbledore rethink his conclusions for a second time that day.

"All sorts of things, if I really want it," said Harry, now trying to show off. "I can make things move, I can make cuts go away, I can turn some things into other things, and" – Harry hesitated, a small smile growing on his face, a smile that seemed cold and vicious – "I can make bad thinks happen to Dudley."

A chill ran down Dumbledore's spine.

"_I can make them hurt if I want to._"

Dumbledore stopped smiling. He would not smile again that day.

"I knew I was special," said Harry, before Dumbledore could get a word in, "The Dursley's, they called me a freak, but now I know…how could I not have known? No one else could do what I can do."

"Yes, Harry, you are indeed special – a wizard. But you are not the only one with these abilities. As I said, Hogwarts is a school dedicated to finding people like you, and educating them."

Dumbledore now adopted a stern look, looking at Harry from over his half-moon glasses.

"You should know, Harry, that at Hogwarts we do not tolerate violence of any kind. Magic is a gift not to be misused, and what you have been doing – not knowing the consequences of your actions of course – to your cousin is against the rules."

"Of course, sir," said Harry, surprising Dumbledore with his sudden meekness. It seemed Harry was a boy of many surprises, for his strange and sudden mood changes were throwing Dumbledore's reading of the boy off. Despite the conversation they were having, Dumbledore did not feel he knew Harry Potter.

Deciding to move on with the proceedings, Dumbledore stood up, his tall figure looming over Harry.

"All then that remains is to go to Diagon Alley to fetch your supplies. I have the list with me. We can go up to London by bus, then catch the -"

"You're coming with me?" Harry asked, interrupting Dumbledore.

Dumbledore frowned.

"It is traditional for those new to the Wizarding world to be accompanied by -"

"I can go myself, sir. I'm used to doing things by myself." He looked very opposed to the idea of anyone coming with him. Dumbledore frowned. All this was becoming very unsettling.

"I suppose if you are determined to go on your own, I cannot stop you. But I do advise, Harry, having someone accompany you, for it is a confusing time for any -"

"How do you get to Diagon Alley, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. If the boy really did not want his company, then he could not impose himself. It was already an unusual circumstance for the Headmaster to be going to meet a new student. It looked like he'd just have to give Harry the directions and hope for the best. Not a very encouraging prospect.

"Very well Harry, if that is your wish. The entrance to Diagon Alley is through a pub named The Leaky Cauldon, on Charing Cross road, London. You should be able to find the way, or ask a policeman for directions."

Slightly disgruntled, Dumbledore took from his pocket an envelope and a key.

"This," he said, passing Harry the envelope, "is a list of instructions on how to get to Hogwarts, and what you will need to buy.

"And _this_," Dumbledore continued, passing over the large golden key, "is the key to your parents' vault. There should be more than enough money in there to last your years at Hogwarts."

Harry's face took on a greedy look as he took the key from Dumbledore, almost snatching it out of his hand.

Seeing Harry's expression, Dumbledore felt the need to add, "However, I would not test this. Best to spend your new-found riches sparingly, just in case."

Harry nodded.

Deciding that he had imparted all the information he needed to, Dumbledore held out his hand once more for Harry to shake. As Harry did so, he seemed to contemplate something, as if he was debating with himself. Dumbledore wondered if he was reconsidering his decision to go to London alone.

"I can speak to snakes, you know."

Dumbledore's heart stopped.

"_I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?_"

"They seem to actually try to find me so they can talk to me. Can other wizards do that?"

For a long time, Dumbledore stayed silent, searching Harry's face with his powerful eyes, as if he were looking for something. Harry fidgeted under the stare, and looked away. Slowly, very carefully, Dumbledore said,

"It is a rare gift, Harry, and one I would not advice you to advertise."

Harry nodded, and pulled back from the handshake. Dumbledore sighed.

"Goodbye then, Harry. I shall no doubt see you at Hogwarts."

And with that Dumbledore spun on the spot, and disappeared into thin air, leaving a stunned Harry Potter behind. Had he stayed, he would have seen another unnatural smile grow on Harry's face.

Hours later, back in his office at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, wondering just what had happened.

And deep under Hogwarts, something monstrous grew restless, awaiting the return of its master.

Once again, this prologue was written by Taure, not by me. Next chapter is when the story really starts.


	2. A whit to wand

I welcome you all to my fourth attempt at fan fiction and my first attempt at a Harry Potter fic. It's an ambitious tale, chronicling the tale of Harry James Potter, the boy who lived, as he journeys through life alongside his inner demons and with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This story is rated **M**ature for violence, sexual situations and language.

**Manifest Destiny**

**Chapter 1**

**'****A whit to wand'.**

**Little Whinging, Surrey**

**August 19****th****, 1991.**

For the past half hour, Harry had been doing his best to somehow tame his unruly hair into something presentable. He had tried again and again but despite all his efforts, his hair stayed as it always had, an unruly mop of jet black that somehow fell flat on his head but managed to stick wildly into the air. Harry had been tempted to simply cut it off once again, but decided against it when he remembered the last time his Aunt Petunia had done that. After all her work, it had simply grown back the next day.

Giving up, Harry placed the comb back on his nightstand and reached for his best clothes, comparatively of course, the Dursley's had never given him anything but Dudley's old hand me downs. He reached for a simple blue shirt that went all the way down to his ankles and a pair of jeans that were four sizes too big for him, nonetheless, he had managed to burn a hole in one of his uncle's old belts and wrapped it tightly around himself.

Looking in the mirror, Harry couldn't help but feel slightly proud of him, today it was over, and he would never again have to return to this place if all went according to plan. Grabbing a large backpack, Harry left his cupboard and headed to Dudley's room. Slowly creeping up the stairs, Harry put his ear against the keyhole to make sure that his aunt and uncle were absent. Hearing nothing but the noises of Dudley's every persistent television, he went in.

Dudley's room was a stark contrast to his cupboard, where his was tiny, this was huge in comparison, where his was empty and silent, and this was littered with toys and possessed an ever-living television. Spotting Dudley on the bed facing his television, Harry called out to him.

"Here Piggy!"

Harry's mocking tone reverberated through the room and startled Dudley, who turned around in anger before seeing whom exactly had addressed him. As his once vengeful eyes turned on Harry standing in the doorway, they widened and he quickly stood up.

"W-What do you want, freak!" Dudley demanded.

Harry walked briskly towards him before speaking, "I thought I told you _never _to call me that?"

Dudley seemed to sputter in indignation before answering, "I'm right though! Y-You're a freak!"

Harry narrowed his eyes before raising a single finger and slowly placing it on the wall. Closing his eyes, Harry called upon himself, he reached deep into what he had dubbed his 'well' and brought forth all his anger, concentrating it at his fingertip. Slowly but surely, he felt a familiar heat envelop his finger, opening his eyes; he was pleased to see a large black welt where his finger was and wrinkled his nose as the smell of burning wallpaper permeated his nostrils.

Turning his head to Dudley, he raised the same finger and pointed at him before saying, "If you don't shut up and listen, I'm going to do that to your head".

Dudley seemed to have lost the metaphorical wind in his metaphorical sails as he paled and fearfully nodded.

"First, turn off that stupid television", Harry growled out. He was about to continue but was interrupted by Dudley falling over himself as he raced for the off switch.

Harry had always despised the television. It wasn't that he had any other hobbies either, his schoolwork was lackluster, he hated his books, his toys and almost everything that he could manage to get his hands on. To him, they were all so revoltingly _normal_. But, if there was one thing he hated above all, it was being interrupted.

Harry glared at Dudley before opening his mouth once again, "Now, listen to me. If you manage to do this, then I can promise we'll never see each other again…"

At that, Dudley visibly brightened. No more Harry meant no more being pushed around, it meant no more fear, it meant that he could finally tell his parents what the freak had been doing to him. It wasn't bad during the beginning. He remembered how he and his friends used to go Harry Hunting back when the freak couldn't do anything but hide. But, a few years ago, something in him had just snapped and one day, he came and… did something to Piers and Todd, the two of them had left Private Drive after that.

Harry had slowly grown in strength. He had slowly destroyed Dudley's social life; no one wanted to hang out with him anymore because they were all too scared off Harry. Dudley had tried once, and only once, to tell his parents but had decided against it when he woke up with his room on fire; Harry had told him that if he tried to speak to his parents about Harry's _freakishness_ again, he wouldn't wake up. In front of his parents, Dudley did what Harry said, he acted, he acted and hit Harry, he acted like it was him who had Harry on the ropes, but in truth, Harry never let him so much as breathe without permission.

But, if Harry was gone, he could have friends again. He could tell his mum and dad everything! Thinking alongside those lines, he eagerly spoke, "What is it?"

Harry frowned on the inside, the poor pig, he was so happy to see him go, had he really been such a monster to him? Well, no matter, he had done what he needed to survive, "Go to Aunt Petunia in ten minutes, I'll distract her while you get fifty pounds out of her bag. Understood?"

Dudley slowly nodded; it was a well-practiced routine for the two of them. Whenever Harry needed money for anything, he would make Dudley do it so he himself couldn't be incriminated.

Seeing Dudley's acceptance, Harry turned his back on him and headed to the back entrance of the house. Exiting the house, Harry looked for a suitable place before just shrugging and throwing his oversized backpack on the ground.

Running back inside, Harry now headed for the front exit and came out into the gardens, steeling himself for what he was about to do, he reached for the immaculate flowerbeds, Aunt Petunia's pride, the same patch of soil she worked religiously on for hours on end just so she could show her neighbors, whose paltry gardens paled in comparisons to Petunia's imported black roses, rainbow tulips and of course, her sunshine petunias. Normally, he wouldn't have gone this far, but, if he had his way, he wouldn't be coming back here for a very long time.

And so, he grabbed a handful of rainbow tulips and harshly pulled, dragging them out by the roots and then stomping on them, reducing the once beautiful assortment of plants to mush. He made sure to pay particular attention to his aunt's namesake and crushed the petunias to a point where even replanting them in hopes that they would regrow would be impossible.

As he was about halfway done, he heard a shrill scream and turned around with a smile to see his aunt's horrified face, her mouth open in horror. Her face, normally complete with gaunt cheeks excessively over powdered and lips always pursed was now an expression of unbridled horror.

"_What have you done!_" she screamed as he ran towards him.

He slowly back away, he Dursley's had never hit him before, excessively of course, but he had no desire to take a slap to the face just as he had finished making himself presentable for his new world.

Before he could reply, she screamed in despair once more and looked at him hatefully before growling out, "Go to your cupboard! You'll have no food for the rest of the year as far as I'm concerned!"

Harry simply nodded as he slowly backed away from the sputtering woman as he frantically ran her hands over her, once-upon-a-time, pride and joy, searching for something Harry had spared. He took great care not to show his back to her. Despite the unexpected reaction, that moment when he had turned around and seen his aunt's gaunt face, frozen in abject horror has just felt… right.

As he entered Number Four Private Drive, he saw Dudley standing there, his mouth wide open and the money he needed clutched in his hand. Without wasting a moment, Harry snatched the bank notes from his hands and briskly walked towards the back entrance. He had the money he needed for the bus fare to central London, now all that was left was catching the 3'o clock bus.

He exited the house through the back and immediately reached for his bag, however, as he was about to leave, a familiar voice rang out behind him.

"S-Stop!"

Harry paused mid-step. He slowly turned around, hoping his eyes were conveying the anger he felt at once again being _interrupted_. Then, his eyebrows went up as he saw Dudley standing in the doorway holding, of all things, a kitchen knife.

"What now piggy? You think you can do anything to me with that?"

Dudley bristled but managed to shout, "I… I need to say this. You're a monster freak. I never want you back here again. You've ruined my life, you've ruined dad's car and now, you've ruined mum's garden. I've had enough of you, I never want to see you again!"

Harry's eyes widened and he began trembling in anger, these people; these _people _had the gall to call him the monster? He had been defending himself! He never did anything wrong! And now, the same person who had gone _Harry fucking Hunting _methodically in his youth had the gall to call him a monster!

His rage began to seep through him, he could kill him, and Dudley may have had a knife but he had _that_, he had never dreamed of using it on Dudley but this fat pig had just crossed the line. Yes, he could do it. The stove wasn't too far away from here, if he managed to hit it right, he could ignite the gas and blow this entire family back to the pit they came from.

Dudley was scared, a moment ago he thought that Potter would ignore him and leave but he seemed to be walking towards him, the entire air was heavy and seemed to weigh down on him. His breathing had stopped and the heavy thumping of his heart was all he could hear. Suddenly, Harry's hand shot out from himself and grasped Dudley's throat. Dudley tried to scream, for his mum, for his father, for anyone, but his voice was lost in the vortex of rage Harry had called forth.

Dudley dropped the knife and it clattered harmlessly on the floor, he couldn't hear anything but the heaving throbbing of his heart. He looked up and saw the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his eleven years of life. Harry's normally green eyes, which had always held the serenity of the ocean, something that could snap you up and drag you to the bottom screaming but was always calm and cool.

Now, all he saw was red.

Then, he felt it. He felt heat.

Harry's fingers had begun to burn and he could smell the stench of flesh cooking and he could hear the sizzling of meat.

Dudley tried to scream once again, but the pain had overwhelmed him and the air was far too heavy for him to even breathe, let alone scream. It was horrible, the most excruciating thing he had ever experienced. It was as if his throat was being cooked under a candle.

Harry's rage had not yet subsided. He wanted to hear the pig squeal, he wanted to make him hurt, to make him pay for all those years he had tortured him. They call him a monster? He had done what he needed to survive! Nothing more! How dare this pig, the fag abomination call him anything but a saint for not burning down his house while he slept in it!

_'__You call this survival?'_

Harry reacted instantly, he pulled back his hand like lightning and unbeknownst to him, his eyes were green once more and the air became light once more. He looked around for the source of the voice like a caged animal, ready to pounce, but found nothing.

Then, the smell hit him, along with the realization of what he had nearly done.

His eyes widened in horror as he cast his gaze downwards to Dudley. The boy was weeping and taking in deep sobs and heavy breaths.

'Oh Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck did I nearly do?' he thought in horror.

"Dudley… I", he began but he was interrupted when Dudley whimpered loudly and curled up on the floor.

No, he didn't mean for this to happen. Oh God what was he going to do now?

Quickly backing away from Dudley, he grabbed his bag from the ground and ran.

And he ran.

He never meant for this to happen. None of it, he hated the fat pig but he never wanted _to kill him! _

It just… got out of control.

* * *

Harry drank deeply from his water bottle. His breath was uneven and he had the taste of vomit and bile on his tongue when he lost his lunch running away from the Dursleys. He was currently sitting in a bus headed for Trafalgar Square, just north of the Leaky Cauldron, his gateway to a new life.

He sat at the very back of the bus, to make sure that no one disturbed him as he pondered the consequences of what he had just done. His aunt seemed to recognize that man, what was his name? Dumblefore? Yes, that was it. If his Aunt knew Professor Dumblefore, then she may have contacted him, and then what? What kind of a teacher would allow a boy who had _nearly killed_ his cousin into his school? Was his chance to leave this filthy mundane world gone before he even took one step into it?

No, no. He needed to calm down. But, God, what had he nearly done? He had nearly killed Dudley! He knew he hated the pig, that he did not dispute, but despite everything he had done to him once upon a time, he never wised for his death. And, he had nearly killed him in a fit of rage in the most painful way he could think off, _by burning his throat open!_

He needed to calm down! Stop thinking about it, yes, that would have to do. He needed to leave that behind. It was another part of a world he no longer was a part of. Slowly though, his rage began to return.

Dudley had treated him like that all those years ago because he was different, because he was _special_. His aunt and uncle had been no different. They had hated him because they were normal, a filthy word in his opinion, and because he was _special_. So what if he nearly killed one random _normal_? Dudley had been a horrible person, a bully! Surely people, his people, would understand! Right?

He was broken out of his thoughts when a loud announcement rang out above him.

Looking up, the saw the digital sing flashing and prominently displaying, 'Trafalgar Square' in block letters. Deciding that he would think about the possible ramifications of his actions later, he stepped out of he bus and began to head south to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he stood in front of what was unmistakably a pub. He had double-checked the signs and was disappointed that the gateway to the world of magic was a dingy old pub. It's only unique features were that in comparison to the buildings next to it, a Hermes; Paris clothing store and a Sennheiser electronics store; the Leaky Cauldron seemed to be almost… archaic, it's design was that of an old 18th century bar, complete with a wooden signpost of a cauldron.

However, Harry was observant. He stood outside for a fair amount of time, not wanting to barge in like a fool, and noticed how people's eyes simply glazed over the pub, as if it wasn't even there. He was astounded. This must have been how wizards kept out _normals_.

Steeling himself, Harry dusted his clothes and straightened his back; he had wanted to make a good impression after all, before walking to the door and pulling it open.

He was immediately assaulted by a myriad of smells, most of them dusty and smoky. He gazed in wonder as he stepped inside, not noticing the door close behind him. The only light in the pub came from candles that seemed to burn unnaturally bright.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter did not seem to pause when he walked in.

Looking around, Harry realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do now. Professor Dumblefore hadn't explained much when he had come to see him. Decided that he should ask the man who looked the most in charge around here, he walked up to the bartender.

"Err, excuse me sir, could I have a moment of your time?" he asked meekly. It didn't hurt to put on the impression of the 'helpless child'.

The bartender turned on him, giving him a toothless smile before responding, "Oh no, what do we have here? First time in diagon alley?"

"Err, yes sir. I just arrived here, Professor Dumblefore told me to.."

Before he could finish, the bartender waved him off, "Nonsense dear boy, I assume you're muggleborn?"

Harry just blinked.

"Well that explains it, come along now son", he said as he moved towards the back of the pub with Harry eagerly following him.

As they came to an exit, the two of them stepped out into a slightly cramped space, 'No exit?' Harry thought in confusion.

However, his confusion was replaced by curiosity when Tom pulled out a thin wooden stick, 'A wand', Harry noted, and motioned for him to notice a peculiar brick that was colored black, a stark contrast from the otherwise grey wall.

"Now then, pay attention, three up, and two across", he said as he tapped the brick with his wand in the motion specified.

Suddenly, the wall lurched and began to pull away. Harry jerked back in reflex and the wall suddenly parted to reveal an entrance. When Harry stepped through, his eyes widened and his mouth hung open in amazement.

Before him lay the most wondrous place he had ever seen.

It was an alley, but the very air here was different. Special, he noted idly as he saw the people in their odd dresses and robes going about the alley.

"It does make for a rather impressive first sight eh?" Tom chucked.

Harry could only nod in reply.

"So, do you have any muggle money?" questioned the bartender.

Harry nodded and said, "Yes but I have a vault here too. Some bank I think…"

"Aye, that'd be Gringotts. Only bank we got. So, you need any more help, I'd be happy to..."

However, Harry interrupted him, "No, thank you. Thank you very much sir, I'll be fine now."

The Bartender nodded and said, "Well, I'll be off then…"

Harry realized he was waiting for his name, "Oh, Harry, Harry Po-"

"Ey Tom! Where are yeh! I'll be needin' the usual!" a voice boomed behind them.

Tom's eyes widened comically and he shouted, "Coming Hagrid!" he then turned to Harry and said, "Well, stop by any time Harry" before running inside.

As his first stop was Gringotts, Harry made his way to the building Tom had pointed him at and began a slow trek towards it, all the while drinking in the sights.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop.

Cauldrons; All Sizes, Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, said a sign hanging over them.

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as he looked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium; Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

Eventually, he came to a stop before a large building of white marble. Looking up, he saw the letters, 'GRINGOTTS' proudly displayed above the door, standing next to the large golden doors were a pair of the most peculiar creatures Harry had ever seen. They were almost comically short, with leathery and wrinkled skin, their noses were fairly large and pointy and both wore silver armor. As Harry walked up to them, he noticed the poem carved on the large golden doors: -

'Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.'

Harry felt and involuntary shiver run down his spine as he took in the full meaning of the poem, in a world of magic, the bank had to have been extremely secure. Who knew what lay inside, keeping watch over the gold.

A pair of goblins bowed him through the golden doors and he found himself in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more creatures were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more of these creatures were showing people in and out of these.

After taking a good look around the massive hall, Harry headed up to one of the free counters.

"Excuse me", he said to a creature that seemed to be writing frantically in a ledger.

It paused and then regarded him carefully before speaking in the quietest, most raspy voice Harry had ever heard, "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to take some money out of my vault", he said more confidently then he felt.

The creature regarded him once again with its beady black eyes and then pointed sourly to another counter that had a bit of a line to it, "Gloohurt can help you".

Thanking the creature, Harry walked over to the line; he was surprised to see that standing in a line in front of him was another boy his age. Thinking he could at least satisfy some of his curiosity, he asked, "Excuse me…", while tapping the boy on the shoulder.

The boy turned around and regarded him for a moment. He had black hair, brown eyes and seemed completely unremarkable in every possible way, "Yes?"

"I was just wondering", he began quietly, "Do you know what these… _things _are?"

The boy was momentarily surprised before he smiled and said, "Ah, muggleborn?"

Harry had no idea what that meant so he just nodded for the time being.

He gave him another kind smile and said, "These are goblins. Right nasty buggers", his voice dropping a decibel, "Don't try to steal from them and you'll be fine."

Harry nodded and was about to voice his thanks but before he could do so, the boy was whisked away by an elderly lady and another one of the creatu- no, goblins, he mentally reminded himself.

"Next!", the goblin's voice broke Harry out of his stupor and he walked forward.

"State your business", the goblin said with rehearsed precession.

"I needed to make a withdrawal", Harry replied, feeling a bit now that he knew what these things were. He'd grab a book on goblins later to fully understand how they came to be bank owners.

The goblin's eyes narrowed and he brought his unnaturally long fingers up and asked, "Name?"

"Harry Potter", he replied quietly.

"And does Mister Harry Potter have his key?" the goblin asked, almost as if he didn't believe he was who he said he was.

Fishing in his pocked, Harry pulled out the large golden key and presented it to the goblin, who quickly snatched it out of his hand and began to inspect it from every possible angle. However, he seemed dissatisfied and gestured to another goblin to bring him something.

Soon enough, the goblin he had spoken to brought him a large bronze contraption of some sort, to Harry, it looked like a telescope but with far too many lens to work right.

Five minutes later, as Harry was beginning to lose his patience, the goblin finally seemed satisfied and removed the key from the bronze contraption. He then reached under his desk and brought forth a jar of a clear liquid, just as Harry was about to voice his dissatisfaction with the service he had received, the Goblin dropped the key in the liquid, where it began to dissolve and release bubbles of gas.

Harry watched, wide eyed, as the goblin destroyed his key.

"Hey! What was that for!" Harry shouted indigently.

The goblin regarded Harry with a sneer before replying, "That Mr. Harry James Potter, was your father's key. Not yours, as a minor, you are not allowed access to the Potter Family Vault for many years, you will of course, be issued a new key, with access to the trust fund you parents had set up for you before their demise, it contains a far smaller amount, but should be enough for your schooling and a great deal of luxuries".

Harry looked at the goblin as his rage settled, "Fine. When can I get a new key?"

The goblin rummaged under his desk, "Here", he said as he held out a smaller key made of gold.

Harry grabbed it and regarded it before turning to the goblin who rudely said, "Well give it here, you want to make a withdrawal right?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and handed the key back to the goblin. Stupid creature, if he needed the key, then why hand it to him in the first place.

The goblin placed the key back into the bronze machine and it began to whirr and growl and the key was inscribed with the necessary charms, indents and groves needed to access his vault.

Eventually, he removed the key from the machine and gestured to another goblin and the two of them began to converse in some strange language of grunting and growling before the newcomer spoke, "My name is Griphook Mr. Potter, this way please".

'Finally', Harry thought with some anger. He had a world to explore goddamnit.

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. The two of them climbed in and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see where it came from, but too late, they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

Eventually the train ride to hell came to a stop and the two of them exited the cart, Harry was barely able to stand on his feet and glared hatefully at the goblin when he walked out with practiced ease and chuckled at Harry's look of distress.

Griphook lead Harry to a large pair of doors made of stone, Harry watched in wonder and Griphook rubbed the key between his fingers and then handed it to Harry. Before Harry could ask why, his unvoiced question was answered when Griphook ran his finger down the crack in the doorway, while Harry couldn't see or hear any change, he immediately felt it; it was as if the heavy feeling in the air had just become more intense.

The pressure lasted only a second, soon, the stone doors began to creak and Harry stepped backwards reflexively.

What awaited him made his mouth hand open in amazement.

Gold! So much gold, there was a good deal of silver and bronze as well but the sheen of gold eclipsed them all. For a person who had never even been given an allowance, the sheer amount of wealth here was staggering, and what was even better, was that it was all his.

"How… how much is it?" Harry asked meekly.

"I believe the total sum is somewhere around a five thousand galleons", Griphook said offhandedly.

Harry whilred around, _a five thousand_! He didn't know what a galleon was but if there were a five thousand of them then that had to mean it was a lot.

"So… what's a galleon?" he questioned offhandedly.

Griphook stepped back as if struck, "You do not know the exchange rates for currency?"

Harry sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and said, "No".

Griphook leveled another sneer at him before saying, "A galleon is the highest coin available. While made from pure gold, you are not allowed to exchange them in the muggle world. Only certified Gringotts employees can deal with the exchange of muggle to wizard money. The current exchange rate is thirty pounds to a galleon. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, and 29 Knuts in a Sickle".

Harry nodded at him before another thought struck his mind, how was he going to carry all this?

As if sensing his reservations, Griphook presented a leather pouch to him from seemingly nowhere, "It's enchanted, allowing you to carry as much as you need. Since this is a trust fund, you are not allowed to carry out more than three hundred galleons at a time without the express permission of your guardian".

Once again, Harry nodded, it seemed all he could do today was nod. Moving towards _his _money, he began the arduous process of counting three hundred gold coins and stuffing them into his bag. He had a lot to purchase.

* * *

Stepping out of Gringotts, Harry wasn't sure where to go next, before he could bring out his list, he noticed that quite a few people were staring at him distastefully. Well that settled that, he needed new clothes, he wasn't going to look so… _muggle_ in his world.

After asking a kind stranger for instructions, he headed over to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

The woman at the store was kind enough and outfitted Harry with several pairs of plain school robes and four pairs of casual robes for everyday wear. At her insistence, Harry also bought a pair of dress robes that he thought looked awfully gaudy but the lady assured him that it was the latest in style. The total bill had come up to thirteen galleons, but Harry had persuaded the lady to bring it down to seven. Hey, just because he was now wealthy it didn't mean that he was going to waste all his money when he could easily use his looks and age to get a discount.

Next, Harry went to buy a trunk. Following the advice he got from the nice lady at Madam Malkin's, he went to the best, and the only, trunk store in Diagon Alley. The man was welcoming enough and let Harry browse his wares. In the end, Harry settled on a simple black trunk that was enchanted with four times the regular space and had a few simple locking charms on it. Harry had been tempted to buy the large trunk that could double as a personal apartment but was put off by the extremely exuberant sum required.

Next, Harry needed some books. As he headed towards Flourish and Blots, he smiled; this was going to be fun.

Entering the store, Harry couldn't help but gaze in wonder. There were books everywhere. Stacked up all the way to the ceiling, even some parts of the floor were made of books.

Walking over to the man at the counter, he realized that the shopkeepers seemed to be reading the paper and was unaware of his presence, clearing his throat loudly, Harry said, "Excuse me?"

The man jumped and gave Harry a stern look before shushing him and shouting, "Mind your manners boy! This is a library!"

Harry chose not to point out that the man had just shouted himself and asked, "I thought it was a store?"

The man bristled and replied, "Well obviously! Why can't it be both?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, "So you can loan books here?"

The man sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Of course not, this is a store."

Deciding that answering that would only lead to an argument, he simply said, "I needed to buy some books".

The man gave and other dramatic sigh, "Well of course you do! Why else would you be here? First year of Hogwarts?"

Harry looked at the man like he belonged in an asylum, "Yes, and I need a few more".

The man pulled out his wand and asked, "Which ones?"

Harry let a smirk cross his face, "All of them."

The man paused, mid wand-swipe, "Now, when you say all of them…"

"I need a beginners book to everything."

"Oh bugger"

* * *

In hindsight, asking for a beginner's book to _everything_ in a wizard's bookstore may not have been the best idea Harry had. He had been forced to sort through a veritable sea of books, and tossed out many useless ones like _Dragueheo: Cooking Goblin style _or _Bliddery Bathilda's guide to Hair Removal Charms _and many, many more. Not to say that he hadn't found some gems, he had brought a great deal of books on history and spell craft.

After visiting the apothecary, he brought a lovely set of scales used for weighing potions ingredients and resisted the urge to buy a self-stirring golden cauldron that could cook up potions on demand by itself if the right ingredients were provided. However, he remembered that his list said 'pewter' and he had no desire to buy the wrong item and get in trouble at school.

Now, nighttime had fallen over Diagon Alley and Harry was ready to head to bed. Looking over his list for what must have been the tenth time that day, he finally came to the bottom of the list, the object he had been waiting to buy all day. A want. Heaving his trunk, he began the slow trek over to Ollivander's. A place he was assured many times made the best wands in all of Britain.

As the archaic building came into sight, Harry couldn't help but stare wide eyed at the store sign. '_Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C'_. That meant that the store had been in business for well over two thousand years. Any reservations he had about buying a wand from here vanished when he realized that.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that he sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon", a soft voice greeted.

Harry jumped; he hadn't expected someone to just appear out of the darkness like that.

An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop. His hair was white as snow and he was wearing a large black robe that seemed far too big for his spindly frame.

"Hello", Harry said awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I am Garrick Ollivander. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter". It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand, eleven inches, pliable, a little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose-to-nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly.

"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

Harry had no idea what this man was muttering about and to be frank he didn't care. He just wanted to buy a wand and _get out of here_.

"I.. I needed a wand", he said meekly. Harry was surprised by the sound of his own voice.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving him a piercing look. "Well, now Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

Trying to make some conversation, as the silence seemed to weigh down on him, Harry asked, "So, you only use those three cores because they're the strongest?"

Ollivander seemed to pause for a moment before he replied, "Not at all Mr. Potter. Once upon a time, wandmakers were not as _picky_ about the cores of wands. We used a great deal of magical substances. Substances such as Chimera Blood, Powered Dementor Cloak, Quaintiped Hairs and many more were all useable subatcnes, but as with the rest of the world, wand making evolved. Temperamental substances, which could cause greatly disasterous effects, were discarded in favor of the more powerful and calmer substances, that's not to say a phoenix tail feather wand won't backfire on you, they just have a tendency to do so far less than some of the others".

Harry digested that piece of information and replied when the tape measure decided to measure each individual strand of his hair, "So, which one will I be getting?"

"Can't say Mr. Potter. After all, it's the wand that chooses the wizard", he cryptically intoned.

Just as Harry was about to ask for more information, Ollivander interrupted him.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beachwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice and flexible just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather, seven inches, quite whippy. Try -"

Harry tried, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere. I wonder, now, yes, why not, unusual combination. Elder and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, nice and strong."

Harry regarded the want before he touched it. The want was pitch black and had an odd handle at the back.

Harry took the wand and he felt sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Ollivander whooped and cheered and cried all at once, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

"Two things Mr. Potter. Two things. Firstly, I remember when I made that wand's first body. It was forty years ago. Holly, not elder, was the original wood used. It was an unusual combination but the two of them seemed happy enough, the wand and the wood that is. Then, four years ago, something happened. I awoke to a great bang in my storage room late and night, and I was treated to the sight of this wand, on the floor, broken".

Harry looked at him oddly.

"Yes, odd how that can happen sometimes…" he continued, "A wandmaker can often times place two conflicting elements together in a single wand, and the wand breaks. But, the phenomenon usually happens a day or two later when the wand settles. But this wand, it had nearly sat for four years happy with its wooden brother before the two of them broke apart. It's an amateur mistake to create a conflicting wand… and I don't make mistakes. Holly was the original wood, now, I replaced it with elder, the core may be the same, but the wand is forever changed…."

Harry gulped as he continued.

"And then, there's the second thing. I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather, just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry didn't care what the insane man was babbling about. He was clearly not all there judging from the glazed look in his eye.

"Err, right. How much?" Harry asked, he wanted to get out of this shop as quickly as possible.

He paid twenty galleons for his wand and tucked it safely into his robes before leaving. What Mr. Ollivander had said about his scar… something wasn't right. Turning around, Harry steeled himself and walked towards the door intending to ask Ollivander some questions. However, just before his hand landed on the handle, a sigh propped up on the door and all the lights went out.

'_Out for a spell! Come back tomorrow!'_

Harry looked at the sign with wide eyes before deciding it wasn't worth it. Something in that store just didn't feel right to him. Hoping to get his mind off things, he pulled out his Hogwarts letter and read it over, making sure he hadn't missed anything. Just as he was about to put it back in, he re-read the part about pets. Should he get a pet? Well, if he was going to, he knew what it was. After all, a person who could talk to snakes didn't have much of a choice.

Deciding that he might as well get one, Harry set off towards the pet shop he had passed by earlier today. When he reached, he was glad to see that it was still open despite the time.

Entering, a myriad of smells assaulted him, the noise had been non-existent outside but inside it was like a circus. Before he could look around and admire the variety of animals he had never seen before, a voice called him.

"Hello there. I'm Mr. Eeylop. Can I help you? I was just about to close up actually", a man sitting at the counter spoke. He was wearing a leather trench coat and nearly every visible part of his body was covered in some kind of scar, burn or mark.

Harry turned around to see him giving him a slightly bored look, "I needed a snake."

The man seemed surprised by his response before he stood up and began walking towards a corner of the store.

"Here we are then, beautiful slithery snakes. Anacondas, cobras, giligies, boas, anything you want really? When you've decided meet me at the counter", he said before leaving him alone.

Harry was astounded by the sheer number of snakes present, slowly making sure no one was around, after all Dumblefore told him not to advertise his gift, he said, "_Hello_".

All of the snakes stopped their business to look at him. None of the spoke until a large cobra, far larger than any he had seen anywhere in the muggle world, replied, "_You… you speak?"_

Harry nodded, "_Yes. I have come to take one of you._"

At that, all hell broke loose, the serpents began to shout at him all at once, some begging, others promising, and many telling him their merits before the large black cobra from before silenced them, "_Silence, I will have silence in my court!"_

At that, they all fell silent, Harry looked at the cobra in wonder, "_You command them?"_

The Cobra nodded, if that was possible, "_Yes. They bow before me. As such, you should take me speaker…"_

Harry was severely tempted to but before he could reply, another one, a purple anaconda, spoke up, "_Oh hush now, you should take me child. The old crone's bark is worse than his bite, the pit follows him because he has made many false promises…"_

The cobra hissed at her and bared his fangs, "_Silence Manda!"_

The anaconda seemed to be laughing, "_Oh? Why should I? None dare touch me, not even you with your swaths of followers, dear speaker, take me, I could crush the 'king' in an instant if I wished to…"_

The Cobra bared his fangs at her once more but made no move to attack, "_As if you could even touch me you withered old rat!"_

That seemed to be the final straw for her and he rose to her full height inside of her cage, "_Now you perish Khan!_"

However, before she could strike, a noise sounded through the store and Harry's heart stopped. It was a 'hoot', a majestic, beautiful hoot. Slowly turning around, Harry felt something stir within him at the sight that now lay before him. Something primal and not altogether there but something that was undeniably beautiful.

He turned around and saw a beautiful owl, her coat white as now and eyes that shown like amber.

Without another thought, he said, "That one. I'll take that one."

The man at the counter walked over to him, "I thought you wanted a snake?"

"I changed my mind", he said without another thought as the snakes all let out a groan of disappointment behind him.

The man simply scratched his beard and shrugged before calling the owl over and putting her in a cage with some owl treats.

* * *

Harry left the pet store feeling oddly content with himself, well; time to head home now, the Dursley's were probably mad at him for stayi-

The Durselys! He couldn't go back, not after what he had done to Dudley.

But, he couldn't stay here; maybe he should have brought that personal apartment trunk after all. The alley was completely closed and the only place Harry could see open was the leaky cauldron. Grabbing his trunk and his new, unnamed owl's cage, he set off towards the pub.

After doing the stonewall puzzle, Harry entered to a drastically different environment than the one he had seen earlier today. The entire place was completely filled to the brim. Laughter and noises rang out throughout the once quiet and dingy pub as he made his way, with a great deal of difficulty, through the legions of people and towards the counter. He saw the bartender, Tom, conversing with a thin, gaunt man. After the conversation was finished, Tom saw Harry and came over to him.

"I didn't expect to see you through here son, what can I do for you?"

Harry looked downward, doing his best to put on a 'helpless, lost child' act before replying, "I… I don't have anywhere to stay? Do you have any idea where I could rent a room?"

Tom seemed visibly taken back, "What about your relatives son?" he asked quietly.

"They… they hate me. They kicked me out because… because they said I was a freak", well that wasn't a complete lie at least.

Tom bristled at that, Harry could see he was shaking with anger, "Bloody fucking muggles, ol Grindy should've done away with them if you ask me…"

Harry was surprised to hear the sheer anger in Tom's voice and made a show of making him think that he was scared because he thought Tom was angry with him.

Tom's eyes softened at the display of fear, "No, no, don't you worry about it son. Here…", he said passing him a key, "Room 16, all yours for the night, no charge…"

Harry was surprised at that, had he known that this was an inn as well, he wouldn't even have bothered with the act. Nonetheless, he made a show of acting surprised and thankful before he once again waded through the legions of people and upstairs onto the board. He was thankful that his trunk was charmed to be feather light otherwise he may have had an issue getting up the stairs in the first place.

Entering into his room, he closed the door and was surprised when all the noise seemed to vanish with it. Shrugging slightly, he waved it off and began to change into his bedclothes. He had just gone through a long, _long _day and welcomed some sleep. But, something lingered in his mind.

Ollivander had said something, something about a brother wand to his and something about his scar. His aunt and uncle had said that he had gotten it in a car crash when his pare-

Of course! How had he been so stupid? His parents obviously didn't die in a car crash, and there was something about his scar that Dumblefore had left out…

Deciding that there was enough time to write a letter for some answers, Harry flushed out some parchment and a self-inking quill he had bought today.

_'__Dear Professor Dumblefore…_

* * *

Dumbledore peered at the letter he had just received from Harry. His office was eerily quiet, and lit only by a single candle on the mantelpiece. In fact, he had just been about ready to head off to bed before he received Harry's letter. Flushing his wand out of his pocket, Dumbledore cast a quick _Tempus _charm and frowned as he glanced at the time. He had been at the ministry, once again forced to sit through Cornelius' hour long 'sessions'. In truth, Cornelius more or less followed his advice to the letter; Dumbledore wondered how long it would take for Fudge to turn on him once the two came to an inevitable disagreement…

However, he could not dwell on the future or the past. In hindsight, he should have informed Harry about the circumstances involving the deaths of his parents and more importantly, he should have enlightened Harry about his shared fate with Tom Riddle. It was just that he had been so… distressed when he returned, he had immediately pulled out the memory of his first encounter with Tom Riddle and replayed it so many times that he had eventually lost count.

However, he could not judge Harry based on a memory that was older than his parents. Everyone deserved a second chance to make a proper first impression. Now, the question was that what should he do about Harry? He could send Minerva, or Hagrid even, but… he had the strangest feeling that he should see this through to the end. With the matter resolved, Dumbledore promised himself that he would go see Harry as early as possible tomorrow morning. The boy had a right to know the truth after all, well, perhaps not the whole truth. Dumbledore had no desire to tell Harry about his burden and his place in the prophecy.

No one should have such a heavy burden placed upon them…

* * *

**Kings-Cross Station.**

**September 1****st****, 1991**

Harry thrust his fee into the cab drivers waiting hand, as the car rolled off, presumably to fins another customer, Harry heaved his trunk and entered the station. Finding a trolley and depositing his belongings on it, Harry set off towards Platform 9 and 10. His ticket had stated that he was to report to Platform 9 ¾. He had initially thought it may have been a mistake or a typo of some sort but after asking around Diagon Alley, he found that there was a hidden platform situated between platforms 9 and ten.

As he walked to his designation, Harry couldn't help but mull over the past two weeks he had spent living in the leaky cauldron. The very next day, Professor Dumbledore had shown up at his room intending to reply to some of the questions Harry had written to him about. What followed was a conversation forever burned into Harry's mind.

A dark wizard, more powerful than any other, had attacked Harry and his family when he was still young and had butchered his parents before somehow dying himself. He was told that he, Harry Potter, was the 'Boy-who-Lived'. At first he had doubted it, but deep inside he had known it all along; He was special, and even amongst others of his kind, wizards, he still stood unique.

When Harry had asked why no one had recognized him, Dumbledore had told him that he had been out of the public eye for eleven years. For all they knew, Harry could've been a red haired half-giant. After the meeting with Dumbledore, who for some reason seemed to be in a great hurry to leave, Harry had taken to his books like a fish to water. It had been the best two weeks of his life, exploring Diagon Alley and learning more about this strange and wondrous world, his world. While Harry had never paid much attention to his books when he was in those filthy muggle schools, he now felt naked without one in his hands.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts as he reached his destination. The signs of Platform 9 and Platform 10 were proudly displayed but he could find no trace of a platform between the two. Pulling out his ticket, Harry tried to wave it around, no doubt looking foolish to any passersby. When that didn't work Harry narrowed his eyes. He had thought the platform may have been charmed to react to the ticket or maybe it was like the leaky cauldron, something muggles had no idea even existed.

Before Harry could try anything else, a loud voice interrupted behind him, "Come now children, Platform 9 ¾ this way!"

Turning around, he sought the source of the voice, it was a plump old woman with bright red hair and a face full of freckles. Trailing behind her were a gaggle of red haired men, one of whom was dressed in stark, black robes that were the sign of a wizard.

Not wasting another moment, Harry pushed his cart up to them. "Excuse me", he said meekly garnering the woman's attention.

"Yes dear, how can I help you?" she said as she turned to him.

"I… I was wondering… how… how do I?" he purposely stammered out.

"How to get onto the platform?" she kindly finished for him.

Harry nodded but said nothing. He found that the less you said, the more people would talk.

"Oh, that's no issue dear, first year at Hogwarts? It's Ron's first year too", she proudly pointed at the youngest red-haired who took it as his cue to step up and hold out his hand.

Harry took it and gave him a firm shake, "Harry."

"Ron Weasley", the boy replied.

"I'm Ron's mother dearie, are you muggleborn?" the old lady questioned as Harry pulled back from the handshake.

Harry's eyes narrowed and he gave a firm shake of the head. He was no son of muggles like Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

"Mum, can we…" began one of the red headed children, he seemed to be a few years older than Harry.

Harry then blinked as an identical boy, twins he realized, appeared from behind him and finished, "… Go ahead already?"

Their mother blinked, "Of course, of course boys. It'll make a good demonstration, go on now Fred" she pointed to one of the twins.

The twin grabbed his trolley and positioned himself so he was pointing to the wall between the two platforms.

"By the way, I'm George, what kind of mother are you?" he said jokingly before running off towards the wall.

Harry blinked once the boy seemed to simply phase through the wall. Even after half a month living in the magical center of London, magic still found ways to surprise him.

"Wicked", whispered the boy next to him, Ron, he corrected mentally.

Before their mother could apologize, the other boy began to run, and said, mid-run, "Just kidding, I'm George!"

Their mother tutted and shook her head at the twins' games before gesturing over to the only one in robes, "Your turn Percy".

The eldest one nodded and began the run, but not before he gave Harry a contemplating look that he returned.

"All right Harry, Ron, you two go", their mother gestured.

Harry gave her a thankful nod and broke into a run for the platform, just as he hit the wall, he felt an icy cold feeling pass over him as darkness overtook him, eventually, light broke through and Harry opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, he had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat.

He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot. Sucking in a breath of pain, he was just about to bring his wand out and cast a spell when as voice spoke out behind him.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry turned around.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you…"

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.

Well, no point hiding it any more, Harry thought. He had done his best to conceal his scar, which Dumbledore had told him would've been a dead give-away for his identity.

Still, he feigned innocence, "What?"

"Harry Potter…" one of the twins, Fred he thought, no George… whispered.

Harry sighed and nodded.

The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself getting irritated. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mom, geroff" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He was the only one already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves…"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once…"

"Or twice…"

"A minute…"

"All summer…"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term, send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two, this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've… you've blown up a toilet or…"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn't see him looking.

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see him, Mom, please..."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there, like lightning."

"Poor dear - no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mom."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved. Harry couldn't blame here, if her home life was anything like his had been, he'd have been begging to get on the train as well.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going to but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind. He had told Dumbledore that he had only been staying in Diagon Alley because he needed to finish his shopping, and then he'd be right back to the Dursleys, but somehow Harry could tell that Dumbledore saw through that right away, even if he didn't comment on it.

Eventually, Harry grew bored of looking out of the window at the scenery. Bringing out his wand, Harry cast a weak charm he had been attempting to learn for the past week.

"_Accio Book_", he whispered_._

A loud thump came from the inside of his trunk but no book escaped. Giving a sigh, Harry stood up, got in a proper stance as directed by his books and cast, "_Wingardium Leviosa"._

His trunk slowly began to rise into the air from where the twins had put it and he brought it down to the floor with a swish of his wand. Tucking his wand back into his robes, Harry pulled his trunk open and began to browse his books. He was already through with most of the charms specified in his schoolbooks for charms and transfiguration, but his first year defense book was utterly devoid of anything practical.

It was almost as if someone didn't want them learning how to defend themselves he noted with wry amusement. Yeah right, Hogwarts was the primary institution for magic in Britain, there was no way they'd hire someone who couldn't teach properly. Settling on a simple book about defensive hexes, Harry levitated his trunk back into its place and sat down to read.

Before he could start reading, his compartment door fell open.

"Sorry, anyone here?" a voice spoke up.

Harry put his book down and saw a boy about his age wearing green and blue robes. He was slightly shorter than Harry with tanned skin, raised cheekbones and black hair. Judging by the robes he was wearing, he was obviously wealthy, and in this world that meant being pureblooded.

"Afraid not", Harry said.

The boy thanked him and pulled his trunk inside and tried to lift it but was interrupted by Harry.

"Let me", Harry said as he brought out his wand, he once again cast the levitation charm and directed the trunk upwards into the holding areas. Funnily enough he noticed that the newcomer's trunk weighed a lot les than his.

The boy laughed and introduced himself, "I'm Blaise Zabini, and you really didn't have to do that, impressive as it was, the trunk was enchanted to be feather light."

Understanding, Harry pushed his wand back into his robes before introducing himself, "Harry."

Blaise shook his hand and then settled down in one of the seats before asking, "Harry? As in 'just Harry'?"

Harry nodded, he had no desire to give out his name and be gawked at like a museum specimen for the better part of three hours.

"Well, can't say I've heard of a 'just Harry' family, are you… muggleborn?" his tone became slightly darker at the end.

Harry narrowed his eyes in response and give a fine shake of the head, "No, not at all."

That seemed to relax him and he replied, "All right then, I hope you don't mind, a friend will be joining us soon."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, time passed and he had just begun a particular interesting part of his book that described the slug-vomit hex when the compartment door was roughly thrust open and a young girl with blond hair that went all they way to her belt came in, trailing behind her was the largest cat Harry had ever seen.

Without even greeting Harry, she turned to Blaise, "Zabini".

"Greengrass, I hadn't expected you here?" Bliase said in mock surprise.

The newcomer rolled her eyes and cast them towards Harry, "And you are?" she asked expectantly.

Harry found he disliked her tone quite a bit, it reminded him of a person Vernon had over for dinner one night. His very tone had been so utterly… pretentious that Harry disliked him immediately.

"Harry", he replied coolly.

"Daphne", she offered in return.

Eventually the three of them settled into a cool calm. Blaise and Daphne chattered away, discussing a variety of subjects that Harry had no interest in. Whenever a topic in which he could offer insight into came up he would join the conversation but mostly he kept to himself and his book.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, the compartment door was once again thrust open and in came a boy and a girl. The girl had horrible frizzy hair that seemed to curl in all directions and the boy standing behind her was chubby and seemed to be cowering and using her as a shield.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice that seemed to belong in the body of a teacher.

Blaise leveled a glare at her and said, "And just who are you?"

The girl bristled at the tone of his voice and haughtily replied, "Hermione Granger, and we're just…"

Daphne cut her off, "Granger… I don't think I've heard that name before?"

Hermione glared at her, "I suppose you wouldn't have, I'm muggleborn, and you are?"

The compartment went silent at that; both Daphne and Blaise were glaring at the girl while Harry observed the exchange with undisguised interest.

"I think you should leave, you wont find anything useful here…" Blaise stated.

Hermione stood up straight, "Excuse me? I suppose you three are pure bloods, Professor Mcg-"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you've heard about us. I think you should listen t me and get out, _mudblood_" Daphne seethed.

Hermione's face became red, "Well, excuse you! Just because my parents are muggles, it doesn't mean I'm any less of a witch than you are".

Before either of them could reply, Hermione huffed and slammed the doors shut.

Blaise glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

The rest of the train ride passed in relative silence, Harry was still mulling over what he had just seen. If that were how people who had been raised by muggles were treated, then how would he fare in this new world?

Eventually, a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Blaise, he saw, looked pale. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a booming voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Harry looked for the source of the voice and saw what could only be described as a giant. The man was three times as tall and wide as his, with hands that could crush his head like a walnut.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed the giant down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Who, is that?" Harry asked Blaise.

Blaise shook his head disapprovingly, "That, is Rebus Hagird, a half-breed and the keeper of the grounds at Hogwarts".

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take.

Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry, Blaise and Daphne were followed into their boat by a thin gaunt boy, Theodore Nott.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then, FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was someone very confident in her abillity.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, the rest of the school must already be here, but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Harry already knew about the houses, but none of his books had mentioned _how_ exactly they were going to be sorted.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall.

"Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry shifted his feet.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Blaise.

"No clue, Esmerdela, my maid, refused to talk about it", he answered nervously.

Before he could ask Daphne, something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air several people behind him screamed.

"What the…?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance…"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost… I say, what are you all doing here?"92

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Following her instructions, Harry got into line behind a boy with black hair behind him and Blaise in front, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place, it was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.

The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

He heard Hermione whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

Despite the fact that he had read the same books, it wasn't hard to imagine that there was no ceiling, and that the great hall was just open to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she levitated a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched, frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Before he could ask what was going on, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth… and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindor's apart,

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuff are true and unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, he had been nervous of course, while he had no doubts he was going to stay in Hogwarts, he didn't want to take any chances. If all he had to do was try on a hat, then they might as well have just given him a dice and told him to roll for his house.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause…

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

'Brocklehurst, Mandy' went to Ravenclaw too, but 'Brown, Lavender' became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

'Bulstrode, Millicent' then became a Slytherin, and so on and on it went.

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. 'Finnigan, Seamus', the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal, Morag'.

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, 'Patil' and 'Patil' then 'Perks, Sally-Anne' and then, at last, "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

And then, a soft voice spoke inside his ear, "Oh, my, my. What do we have here…"

Harry didn't reply, something in this hat made him feel strange. It felt like the air in Ollivander's shop; something old, archaic and lost.

"Oh my, my dear Mr. Potter, what _cruel _things have you done? Tut, tut, tut, I daresay if the headmaster knew even a quarter of the things I do, he'd have you out of the school before you could say magic…"

Harry's eyes bulged. Was the hat talking about the incident with Dudley? Or was he talking about that time with Piers and Todd four years ago? He couldn't let the hat do this, maybe if he angled it right, he could burn the hat and call it an accident…

Just as he was about to move, it spoke again, "No need for such worry Mr. Potter, I am forbidden by the founders of this school to divulge any secret I come into possession off. And, I daresay your fire trick won't work on me. I have survived the centuries you know…"

"Now, tell me Mr. Potter, where should you go. You have a formidable thirst for knowledge, yes, but you do not seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge, no you seek knowledge to _survive_... Although I'm afraid your definition of the word may be slightly twisted".

"You hold great loyalty, yes, but loyalty to oneself doesn't count I'm afraid…"

"In the end", the hat whispered, "It comes down to two choices. Gryffindor and Slytherin, both great houses, and both attributes inside you… I wonder… what do you think Mr. Potter, where should I put you?"

Harry bit the inside of his mouth and whispered, "Wherever I can…"

"Oh, you don't need to finish that sentence Mr. Potter. I know where you belong. In the end, you seek one thing above all else, you seek greatness… there's only one house for you, and that's SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat saw only stares from both students and teachers.

* * *

Well, thats all folks. Certain parts of the story, most notably thr Sorting Hat's song and a few others were taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcers Stone. Tell me what you think, and for those of you not farmiliar with my update speed, remember, I update whenever.


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